'Ampshire Boy: Journey of a Hampshire Soul: Unveiling the Extraordinary Life of an English Gentleman

By Alfred Leonard

"'Ampshire Boy" is an inspiring tale that follows the remarkable story of a young boy hailing from the picturesque county of Hampshire, England, as he embarks on a life-changing adventure in the Navy. Set against the backdrop of the vast and unpredictable ocean, this captivating book explores the trials, triumphs, and transformation of a boy who discovers his true calling on the open waters.

Born and raised in the idyllic countryside of Hampshire, the protagonist dreams of a life filled with exploration and daring exploits. But it is not until he sets foot on a naval vessel that he realizes the true extent of the challenges and excitement that await him. From the bustling ports of Portsmouth to the stormy seas of distant lands, the narrative unfolds with vivid descriptions, immersing readers in the sights, sounds, and dangers of life at sea.

Throughout the pages of "'Ampshire Boy," readers witness the protagonist's growth from an inexperienced lad into a seasoned sailor. They join him in facing treacherous storms, engaging in thrilling naval battles, and navigating the complexities of life on a warship. But not only do the physical aspects of seafaring shape his character; it is also the camaraderie he develops with his fellow crewmates, the bonds forged amidst the relentless waves.

As the boy grows into a man, he encounters diverse cultures and untold adventures and experiences profound personal growth. From the battles fought to protect his homeland to the friendships formed in the face of adversity, "'Ampshire Boy" showcases the resilience and determination of a young man who discovers his purpose and finds his place in the world.

Written with meticulous attention to historical detail, this book uniquely portrays life in the Navy during a bygone era. Rich in thrilling action and heartfelt moments, "'Ampshire Boy" is an unforgettable exploration of courage, honour, and the transformative power of the sea.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781447667612

Book preview

BOOK 1

COUNTRY

1

Pre-estate

The small boy stood by the side of the massive pile of logs piled up by the estate workers during the previous winter.  He was clothed in somewhat ragged play clothes, hand-me-downs from his brothers before him and, no doubt, worn by several other young boys before them before his mother obtained them from various second-hand sources.  His feet were shod in heavy, studded ankle boots.  He carried a vast stick cut from a hazelnut tree in his hands.  The post was about two feet taller than Robert and looked huge in his tiny hands.  His knuckles were white because of the strength of his grip, and his whole body shook in a combination of fear and expectation.  He was six years old, and this was the first time he had been allowed on such an adventure with his two brothers: Ronald, eleven, and Albert, nine.  In comparison, his elder brother was huge; already filling out and proliferating, while his younger brother, although certainly much more significant, was not that startling a comparison.

All three boys were dressed similarly and felt the chill this December morning, without heavy coats, scarf or glove protection against the sharp frost.  All three boys wore short knee-length trousers, army-style jerkins, and long socks pulled up to their knees.  Ronald wore a pair of old Wellington boots that their father had discarded, but Albert, like Robert, wore ankle-length studded boots.

They each carried a stick cut from the nearby hazel-nut trees.  Ronald’s and Albert’s were elaborately decorated with carvings etched into the soft bark with a penknife.  Robert’s decorations were much plainer than those of his two brothers, but one could see that some effort had been made to identify the stick as his own.  All three sticks tapered to a thin end of about an inch in diameter, giving enormous flexibility.  When swung with some strength, they would contact their target with great force. 

The three boys were the sons of Alfred and Caroline Leonard.  Alfred Leonard was a worker on the estate on which they lived.  Their house, one of a terraced block of six, belonged to the estate.  The Sandsfoot family, Mr Jack and Mrs Kate, owned the estate, and they had two sons, Master John and Master Martin. Like his two brothers, Robert had many a reminder of the correct titles when addressing a member of the estate owner’s family.

The estate consisted of some 2,000 acres of Hampshire countryside, just outside the village of Church Wallop, a few miles west of  Andover.  A few years after the Second World War, 1945, Alfred and Caroline found it challenging to care for their three sons on the wages paid by the estate.

The boys knew the estate well.  Set in a vast valley surrounded by low hills, there was only one access road from the main road into the village of Church Wallop.  This access road was narrow and rutted from continuous use by heavy vehicles and animals. It followed the route of a small stream as it flowed through the gap in the hills. As this rutted track emerged into the vast valley containing the estate, a small track led to the six cottages. 

Robert lived with his family in number 3, Farm Cottages, The Sandsfoots Estate.  Further along the rutted track, past the turning to the cottages, was another access track to the farm buildings and the vast farmhouse.  The stream continued through the estate, disappearing through the hills at the other end of the valley, filling two large lakes.

Playgrounds consisted of the two lakes, huge wooded areas which the boys called copses, the farm buildings and the surrounding hills. All three boys loved the estate and regarded the whole valley as their personal play and hunting ground.  They were free to roam from dawn to dusk.

Their hunting grounds were anywhere they could find rabbits, hares, pheasant, partridge, wild ducks, geese, pigeons, etc.  They brought home the flesh or the eggs from all these sources, which their mother used to supplement their food supplies.

The adventure for today, masterminded by Ronald, was designed to generate some income and, at the same time, provide the mother with some additional food.  The target was rabbits, and the boys knew that rabbits used the piled-up logs as shelter when away from their burrows.

The technique was pretty simple: the boys were stationed, by Ronald, around the pile of logs; Ronald, and only Ronald, would, when ready, kick the pile of logs and rap them with his stick, making as much noise as possible, to scare out whatever might be sheltering inside. Ronald’s strict instructions were to whack anything that came out, whether it be a rabbit, and it was for this purpose that the sticks had been cut. 

Robert was dreading this moment.  He had heard his brothers telling stories of the fierce creatures that could come out of the logs, some invented, and some true, and his biggest fear was rats.  According to Ronald, these creatures could grow considerably and would not hesitate to sink their teeth into a careless young boy, always striking for the throat. 

Robert was shaking quite badly now; his soft blue-grey eyes were huge as he tried desperately not to blink.  The thoughts raced around his mind; he had an extremely vivid imagination and a quick and agile brain, which never failed to assess any situation with a speed that never ceased to amaze him. 

Almost instantly, he visualised giant rats leaping out of the pile of logs, not nipping gently at his heels with small teeth but gigantic, fat creatures with enormous fangs snapping at his throat.  His eyes were now glazed as his mind raced… off with bum on a broomstick, his mother's version of away with the fairies!

The frightened young boy saw himself being carried from the copse back home, mother bathing his wounds whilst father dashed off on his bike to find the doctor;  the terrible imagined bites from the rats were bleeding profusely, and blood was all over the floor. 

A fevered imagination forced a soft groan from his throat; in fact, Robert was so distracted by his thoughts that he almost missed the thud of Ronald’s boot as he kicked the pile of logs.  Robert was shocked by what followed and stood, rooted to the spot, as what seemed like dozens of rabbits and hares exited the records, dashing off in all directions. 

The whooping and swish of his brothers’ sticks could be heard clearly by Robert as they swung at their quarry, but he could not move.  Both his brothers had taken a wild swing at a furry creature - they didn’t know what it was at that stage of the hunt - and instantly raced after the other animals as they escaped. 

They returned to the pile of logs, carrying a dead rabbit, to find Robert still rooted to the spot and staring with his huge eyes at the rise of diaries.  Ronald shoved Robert, pushing him to the ground and shouting at him for failing to help in the hunt.  Very close to tears, Robert was shaken by the violence of his brother’s punishment, but at least the push had brought him back from his frozen state, and he could move again. 

He picked up his stick to hide his tears, turned, and raced to find his mother. All the boys could dash, but none more quickly than Robert, especially when he adopted his unique style designed for maximum speed. 

The style had been developed the previous summer when Robert had noticed that when he came to a hill, it was much easier to run if his torso was bent forward at the waist. Over some time, he developed this method so that his hands touched the ground and became part of his running stride, much like that of a monkey. He had further developed this running stance by using it at all times, not just going up hills but on the flat. 

In later years, when he was too tall and too heavy to use this method of locomotion, he reflected that he must have been light enough and supple enough at precisely the right moment in his life to discover this technique.  Using his own special method, Robert could run for as long as he wanted; he was neither tired nor became breathless and, more importantly to Robert, his brothers could not catch him.

He would face weeks of teasing and a flat refusal when asked to be taken on further hunts. Even worse, the teasing was from his brothers and his father, who delivered his derisive comments in his characteristic pose, right hand scratching at a touch of eczema on his left elbow.  The only person who understood was Robert’s mother. To Robert, she was beautiful, quite short and slim, with dark hair, a kindly face and a soft voice.

The best part of each day for the youngest in the Leonard family was the hour or so after tea, curling up in the armchair behind his mother, who would slide to the edge of the seat to allow him room. There he would stay, quietly listening to his parents chatting or listening to the radio; Journey into Space and The Archers were his favourites.  His mind was most active whilst listening to these programs; he would project himself into every plot and story, devising endless alternative endings to each from his fertile imagination.

The two big armchairs that his parents used were close to the fire.  They, and the huge sofa, looked the worse for wear and had certainly seen better days.  One of the armchairs was reserved solely for his father’s use.  When their father was out of the house, anyone could sit in his chair, but when he came back, whoever was in the chair would be well advised to move quickly.  Any delay in vacating the chair would be rewarded with a slap on the rump or the back of the legs when the father heaved the offending child from his own personal resting place. The only furniture in the room was a wooden table and four dining chairs.

Apart from the sitting room, there were just four other rooms in the house: a small, stone-floored kitchen with small windows set high in the walls; and three bedrooms, the largest of which, at the front of the house, was occupied by Robert’s parents.  Ronald was on his own in the larger of the two smaller rooms, with Robert and Albert sharing the smallest. 

The house was very draughty because of the badly fitting doors and windows.  There was no central heating or electricity, indoor plumbing or toilet.  Water was hauled up from the well in the garden using a bucket attached to a long rope, which was lowered to the water level via a revolving spindle of wood with a handle attached to it.  There was a wooden cover over the opening to the well, which everyone was always very careful to replace whenever they had finished raising water. Failure to return this cover by Robert or his brothers would undoubtedly earn the miscreant a taste of father’s belt! 

Warmth was provided by a fireplace in every room. Usually, fires would only be lit in the kitchen, in mother's black metal cooking range, and the sitting room in the massive open fireplace. However, Robert’s parents did not allow open fires in the bedrooms for fear of sparks igniting the carpets or bedding.

Lighting was provided by candles, which were allowed to be used when, and only when, going to bed, traipsing up the garden path to the lav, or my mother's giant oil lamp.  This lamp had a bulbous brass container for the paraffin oil and a long glass tube, which magnified the light.  A long, thick wick dangled down into the brass paraffin container, the other end of which, when lit, burned inside the glass tube.  The heat from the top of this glass tube was surprising, considering the size of the wick producing it, and Robert had seen his father, on many an occasion, lighting his cigarette from the top of the lamp.  Immediately above the lamp was a large dark stain on the ceiling, further testament to the heat from the light. 

The family thought nothing of the lack of inside amenities, and most of the family gave little thought to using the outside toilet, but for Robert, this tiny personal space was the subject of his first nightmare. 

A wooden shed with a big bucket under a wooden bench was at the very end of the long garden.  If you were lucky, there might be some torn-up newspaper; if not, it is best to take a handful of grass or a dock leaf to clean up after a big job!  It also smelled awful, but not the smell bothered Robert.  What did bother him was the long walk, in the dark, to the end of the garden and sitting in that tiny, dark, cold and very frightening shed. 

The noises from the surrounding wildlife and the wind sighing through the branches of the trees filled Robert with total terror.  For several years he would have a recurring nightmare: he would see himself sitting in the lav, as his family referred to their lavatory, listening to the usual night noises.  Suddenly he would hear scratching at the door accompanied by heavy breathing and fiendish moans. He could never predict when these sounds would commence; they always took him by complete surprise despite knowing that they would occur; it was this waiting for the noises that were one of the worst facets of his nightmare.       The scratching outside in the pitch dark would become louder and more insistent, and Robert would see the soulless glint from the yellow eyes of a giant cat or mythical beast through the gaps in the flimsy wooden slats from which the door was made.  Suddenly a huge clawed foot, covered in very long, shockingly white hair, would squirm under the bottom of the door; it never failed to grab Robert by the foot, even though he instinctively lifted his knees to his chin.  And then it started to drag him from the lav… at which point Robert would wake up screaming his head off, soaked with sweat.  Following these nightmares, he usually spent the remainder of that night and a couple of subsequent nights in his parent’s bed. 

Some years later, Robert read an article stating that an alligator could outrun a man over a distance of one hundred yards; Robert burst into laughter when he thought Yes, but he wouldn’t catch me on the way back from the lav because not only would I be going too fast but I would be three feet off the ground as well!  On several occasions, he had asked both his father and his brothers to escort him up the garden but was told not to be a wuss and get on with it. 

Wuss, wazzock or pillock was their father’s favourite way of describing someone who was doing, had done, or might do, something a bit silly or childish. The boys had picked the expressions up very early in life, much to the disgust of the schoolmistress at Church Wallop, where the words were now in common use; Robert thought they would soon make it to the new editions of the Oxford English Dictionary.

The exterior of each house in the terraced block of six was identical.  The exact number of windows and doors, all the same colour, the same thatched roof extending over the complete length of the block and with the same number of chimneys.  The thatched top was not much to Robert’s liking either; it was infested with rats and mice, and the night noises, as these rodents burrowed their way through the thatch, could be pretty frightening, especially when awoken in the dead of night. 

Although the inside of each house was relatively small, each had a long garden containing various fruit trees, vegetable plots and the odd homemade greenhouse.  Robert’s mother had consistently grown a few flowers in other houses that the family had occupied before the war started. Still, now Father had taken over the whole garden to grow vegetables.

Everything was rationed except for whatever the family could provide for themselves, either from foraging, hunting, or growing in the garden.  Robert’s father developed a variety of vegetables: new potatoes, main crop potatoes, carrots, cabbages, brussels sprouts, peas, broad beans, runner beans, swede, beetroot, parsnips, lettuce, onions, leeks, etc. 

Even as young as he was, Robert was still expected to help his father in the garden. The gardening year commenced in March of each year when his father would begin the laborious task of digging, and although all of the boys helped in this task, his father always said he liked digging with Robert most of all.  This was because, unlike most right-handed people (and all of the family were right-handed), Robert held the digging fork as if he were left-handed.  When he and his father started digging, each from a different side of the plot, they did not get in each other’s way when they met in the middle.

Obviously, Robert could only keep up the heavy work of digging for a short time; he tired pretty quickly and would then hand the fork over to one of his brothers and would fill the empty trenches with well-rotted farmyard manure; or sometimes with not-so-well-rotted waste. 

Through the winter, his father usually brought a huge trailer load of manure from the farm and tipped it up in a massive pile in the field at the end of the garden.  The boys would then wheel it into the garden, using father’s old wheelbarrow, as and when it was required. 

The large, metal-wheeled wheelbarrow was much too heavy for Robert, so his father or one of his brothers would wheel a load up to the digging area, and Robert would then spread it along the dug trenches. 

This communal gardening activity was something that the boys were entirely used to; their father had insisted on their helping out from an early age.  None of the boys would make any attempt to avoid this work, and Robert actually loved it because it was one of the few things that the whole family could do together.  Their mother would help out with fetching and spreading the manure, seeding, hoeing and watering. 

In April, most of the seeds would be sown, and from then on, until each crop was harvested, it was just a matter of keeping the weeks under control and some watering during the dry periods.  Wishing to support the work in the garden to a bare minimum, their father could have made more of an effort weeding, unlike most of the neighbours, who seemed to spend endless hours in the evenings and at weekends hoeing in the garden.

His gardening philosophy was much more simple: shove the seeds into the ground and let them get on with it.  Just the occasional walk around the plots, pulling out the more enormous weeds.  His method certainly produced results because every year, there would be enormous crops of every vegetable, sufficient to see the family through the winter until the following season. 

Main crop potatoes were dug and left to dry in the sun, then bagged up for storage in the garden shed.  Carrots were pulled and stored in large boxes of sand.  Beetroot and onions were pickled in vinegar.  Cabbage, brussels sprouts, leeks, parsnips, and swede remained in the ground and survived most of the winter, to be harvested for the table as and when required. 

Despite food rationing, the family certainly did not go hungry.  The garden and the estate provided most of their needs.  The many woods and copses provided an endless source of timber for fuel, which the estate workers cut into manageable logs during the days when the weather was too bad to get outside. 

Some of these logs would be up to three feet long, but they would easily fit into the huge living room fireplace.  Other records would be cut into smaller logs for the cooking ranges, and yet others would be split into kindling for fire lighting - another job for the boys.

When the supply of pre-cut logs was used up, as happened most winters about the middle of January, it was up to each family to supply their own.  Neighbours would band together, take one of the carts with a couple of the huge cart horses into the woods, and return with a massive load of branches, which had fallen from the trees or had been previously felled and stacked during planned forestry work. 

Cutting these large branches into manageable lengths and then into fire-sized lengths was a task in which Robert was able to help his father or his brothers.  Sawing cradles, created from pieces of rough timber from the estate, were made by their father; they were somewhat shoddily built and lasted only a short time but served the purpose. 

The log to be cut sat on this cradle and with a boy on each end of their father’s handsaw, they would pull and push until sufficient logs were cut to last for a few days.  Later, using his father’s small axe, Robert or one of his brothers would chop some of the smaller logs into kindling using an enormous log as a chopping block. 

Although Mother did not deliberately let the range fire go out, it sometimes did during the night or whilst she was out shopping, so a ready supply of kindling was essential.  Chopping kindling was a job that required great care and concentration since the axe was extremely sharp and would easily slice through fingers or hands, or, if the axe did not actually hit the log, it would continue downwards and might sink deeply into a leg or thigh.  Most of the estate workers and their families carried some evidence of injury caused by cutting fuel for fires, although Robert did not know of anyone who had actually lost a finger or suffered any significant injury.

Already Robert carried several scars on various parts of his small body and was rarely seen without a selection of cuts and bruises inflicted whilst involved in the games in the trees and generally playing around the estate.  His left arm had been badly burned when he was a baby; crawling around in the kitchen, he had stumbled into his father’s shaving water which had, for some reason, been placed temporarily on the floor. The whole underside of his left arm was deeply scarred, but not the hand.  Fortunately, Robert had no memory of this incident.  In fact, he had very few memories from his early years. 

One of his earliest memories was when a younger sibling was born, his brother Michael, who lived for just a few short weeks.  The cause of the new baby’s death was to remain a mystery to Robert; he was not told why his tiny brother had died. His mother would not speak of the lost baby, but Robert never forgot the joy of holding him in his arms. He always wished in later years that Michael had lived because he would not then be the youngest in the family.  Some years later, his mother took him to see Michael’s grave in a small churchyard in the village of Old Alresford.  His parents had been living on a nearby farm when Michael was born, and thus most of Robert’s early memories were from this period. 

A more recent and much more painful incident had left a large scar on his right hand.  This injury, still slightly red and in the healing stages, would eventually leave a large half-moon-shaped scar.  He experimented with the small axe; Robert had been sent by his mother to chop kindling for the fires.  Having noticed that he did everything with his right hand, Robert had wondered if he could use his left hand as efficiently as he could his right. 

Luckily, Robert was very biased towards his right side and the feeble chopping movement with his left hand had merely dropped the axe onto his right hand.  Years later, following a routine medical examination, Robert was to discover that the whole of his right side was much more developed than his left.  His right eye was keener than the left; hearing on his right side was more precise than that on his left, and his right arm and leg were much stronger than their opposite numbers.

Even so, the experiment had caused quite a deep injury.  A very practical woman, his mother had not fussed around very much; she bandaged up the wound after wiping some iodine on it.  That had hurt, but at least he knew what to expect! 

The first time he had experienced the initial effects of this remarkable medicine was about a year ago when, at about four years of age, he had grazed his shin sliding down a tree.  Every inch the fallen hero, Robert had sat wide-eyed, his leg trembling in anticipation, as his mother reached for the bottle of dark brown liquid.  Prone to exaggeration, his brothers had told him, in graphic detail,  about how much the application of iodine hurt, and he had watched his mother shake the bottle, smear a little over the bandage and wipe it across the graze.  Nothing happened for a few seconds, and Robert thought that his brothers had once again exaggerated their story.  Then it hit!  His mother had sat him on the edge of the table to administer the iodine, and his leg shot out in front of him, hitting his mother in the stomach.  She cried out in shock and pain but made no other complaint; she just gave him a hug and called him a wuss.  In many ways, the experience had been an unfortunate one because it proved the veracity of some of his brother’s stories; Robert would find it much more difficult in the years to come to decide which of their tales were fact or fiction.

Young children are enormously susceptible to tales of the supernatural, and Robert had a very clear recollection of his brother Albert’s experience with a ghost. At the time, he had been badly frightened, as had Albert, by the whole experience.  The house they lived in, at that time, was at the end of a very long grassed track, well off the beaten path and completely surrounded by woods.  The overhanging thatched roof dominated the house, extending far out over the windows, leaving the rooms dark and forbidding. 

The interior always seemed dingy; the air felt somehow heavy and seemed to cling to Robert’s body, and the whole atmosphere had an unfriendly feel to it.  Also, unusually, the house had two staircases leading up to the first-floor landing, and there was a connecting door between the two bedrooms that the boys shared.   

Their father told them that the old house had at some time been two separate dwellings, hence the two staircases.  At about three years of age, Robert had heard countless stories of ghosts, ghouls, and other supernatural phenomena from his brothers, but his greatest fear at that time was the two staircases.  His fear was very real to him; he did not know why and could never, in the future, explain this fear; it was just there. 

It had been a scorching day in the middle of the summer months, and Albert had been sent to bed early for some minor misdeed. Against his father’s instructions, Robert had sneaked up to the bedroom to play with his brother.

The two small boys had played with their few toys and, after a short while, heard thuds and scraping noises on one of the staircases.  It was dusk, and the already dark and dismal room had got noticeably darker; neither had brought a candle to the bedroom.  The two boys looked at each other, instinctively knowing the source of the strange noises. Albert screamed one word at the top of his voice – ghosts!

Whether it had been Albert’s intention to frighten Robert, he would later not admit, but the word had an electrifying effect on the smaller boy,  who shot through the connecting door and down the other set of stairs to his refuge behind his mother's back.  Almost immediately, the family heard the sounds of Albert screaming, but not from upstairs, from out in the garden. 

Later, Robert overheard his brother explaining to his father that, after they had heard the noises on the stairs, he had noticed the door to his bedroom start to open, and he had seen a ghostly figure start to come through the door.  Not wishing to be confronted by what was making an entrance, Albert hadn’t waited to find out more; he had opened the window and jumped - straight down into a bed of tall stinging nettles.  He was not injured in any way except for the stings all over his arms, legs and face. If you have ever been stung by nettles, you can imagine how much pain he must have been in.  Whether the incident had been somehow staged by his two brothers, Robert could not be sure, but the small boy watched with a certain amount of perverse pleasure as his mother applied the iodine to Albert’s stings!

One thing Robert did know for sure: it was not his father playing a joke on his sons because he was downstairs with his mother when he had leapt into his refuge at the back of her chair.  It could have been Ronald playing the ghostly role - he was forever making up gruesome stories of the supernatural - but whenever he was asked, he always denied any part in the proceedings. As far as Albert was concerned, he was adamant and always insisted that what he saw was real; the figure had not been a figment of his imagination and that it could not have been one of the family. Although Robert had heard the strange sounds on the stairs, he had not seen the figure forcing its way into the bedroom, but his own fertile imagination, together with the memories of that evening, plagued him for many years to come.

A short time after the ghostly incident, towards the end of 1943, when Robert was just over four years old, he had watched his father take a pot-shot at a German aircraft flying over their house.  In common with all other agricultural workers, Robert’s father was exempt from military service during the war.  However, he had joined up with the local Home Guard and would, on a couple of evenings each week, put on his khaki uniform, take his .303 rifle from the padlocked cupboard and set off on his bike for training. 

On this particular evening, the family had been out in the garden when an aircraft was heard flying overhead.  The whole family searched the cloudy skies, hoping for the sight of the plane.  Robert’s father spotted it first and identified it as a German bomber. Quite how he managed to identify its country of origin, Robert could not understand; it was flying so high it was almost out of sight. 

Determined to do his bit for King and Country, his father raced off indoors to get his rifle and, fingers fumbling with bolt and bullet, managed, eventually, to blast off a round at the fast departing aircraft.  It wasn't very likely that the bullet went within a few miles of the plane at such an extreme range!  A notoriously bad shot, his father was never allowed a gun on the estate shoot. It was said of him by the other estate workers that he couldn’t even shoot himself in the foot!  The incident provided Robert with an endearing memory of his father: having deterred the German pilot from his bombing mission, Robert’s father swaggered back towards the house, rifle over his shoulder and with a massive grin on his face.

The last of Robert’s early memories was his first day at school.  Approaching the end of 1944, the family was living in a house right opposite the school house in the middle of the village of Old Alresford.  A strange, and was not very much liked, place to live for a farm-working family because it meant that their father had to cycle several miles to and from work each day, and he could not get home for dinner (as the family called the midday meal). 

A few days after his fifth birthday, Robert was taken across the road by his mother to the school.  Robert had no memory of this initial journey across the road; what he did remember was the first playtime at about 10.15 in the morning.  Every child was given a small bottle of milk to drink and then let out into the playground.  Having drunk the small bottle of frozen milk, Robert thought that was it; school finished for the day, not too bad really, just an hour or so sitting still and listening to the teacher.  He left the playground - there was no such thing as school security - opened the small latched iron gate, looked both ways as his mother had taught him, and went home. 

Even at that early age, it always puzzled Robert why his mother should continually drum into him the rules for crossing the roads since there was so little traffic.  A few bicycles, horses, and carts, and very occasionally, a bus, car or delivery vehicle.  Sitting in her comfortable old armchair, his mother was a little surprised to see him; she made no fuss, just gave him an apple and carried him back across to the school, much to Robert’s chagrin.

As with all such childhood events, the incident becomes funnier with each telling, and his parents and brothers didn’t overlook a single opportunity to recount Robert’s mistake to everyone they met; Robert was the butt of the joke for some time to come. His teacher, whom Robert remembered as a wizened old lady of about thirty-five, sporting tiny metal-rimmed pince-nez perched on the end of her nose,  would also remind Robert, for many weeks to come, that it was playtime and not going home time.

Unlike his two siblings, Robert actually came to like school. With a relatively long attention span, he usually found something of interest in the lessons and was generally regarded as a bright and attentive student.  At times his mind seemed to leap ahead and form its own conclusions as if driven by some form of déjà vu, and he could almost anticipate what the teacher was about to write on the blackboard. 

Maths, reading, English language, physical education (PE), and games were his personal favourites.  He needed more interest or time for geography or history.  His reaction to religious studies was mixed; he did not really know whether to believe or not.  He would undoubtedly say his prayers silently to himself when he went to bed each night, but only because his mother asked him to. Even at such a young age, he found it difficult to understand why such an all-powerful being would allow the world to be at war, but he was careful not to voice this opinion.  Deep in his mind was the nagging doubt that such thoughts might be considered to be treason, and he had heard many a story from his father about the punishments meted out to traitors.

During his first year of infant school, he attended three different schools.  Agricultural jobs were easy to come by: the war had created a shortage of manpower, and skilled workers were few and far between.  For reasons unknown to Robert, his father quickly became dissatisfied with his employers and wasted no time in moving on when this happened.  In the weeks leading up to each move, Robert would have no indication that his father was losing interest in his current job; his parents must have discussed it after the boys had gone to bed. 

The first indication of a move would be on a Saturday morning when some form of transport, a horse and cart, an open flat-bed lorry, or a cattle truck would arrive, and the whole contents of the house would be thrown into it.  This took little time, the family needed more furniture, and Robert suspected that the continual moving was one of the reasons for keeping so few items.  The bedding was rolled up inside the mattresses, tied with lengths of baling wire or string and thrown straight onto the cart.  The iron bedsteads were bolted together; Father always kept the special spanner for these bolts hanging from a piece of string beneath his own big double bed.  The remainder of the smaller items were tossed into large tea chests, which, when turned upside down with a cloth thrown over the top, doubled as bedside tables or chairs.  Well worn from constant use, these tea chests were never discarded and were, therefore, always ready for the next move.  Curiosity eventually got the better of him, but when Robert asked his mother why the family kept moving from place to place, he was told that his father had itchy feet and could not stay in any one place for too long.  ‘One day,’ she would often tell him, her soft blue eyes dreamily gazing off into the distance, ‘Father will find somewhere that he likes, and we will stay there forever.’

The arrival at a new house was always an exciting time, especially for the youngest in the family, except, of course, for the traumatic processes of joining a new school.  Dashing around the house from room to room, arguing with his brothers about which room they might have as their bedroom, father yelling after them to ‘give us a hand to unload the lorry.’  No matter how many times the family moved, Robert always checked first where the toilet was.  He was usually disappointed since it was inevitably at the end of the garden.  It was to be many years before they experienced the luxury of indoor plumbing. 

Sometimes the cottage would be so remote that the lorry was unable to get up to the house.  Their possessions were then unloaded at the side of the road, and their father would trudge off to the farm, returning with a horse and cart or a tractor and trailer, and the whole lot had then to be reloaded and taken to the family’s new house.

The continual moving did not bother Robert too much.  He did find it difficult during the first few weeks at each new school, but he made new friends quickly and efficiently, so he soon settled in.  One of the most enjoyable events of a school day for Robert was the first playtime.  Each child was given a small bottle of milk issued by a ‘milk monitor’, one of the class nominated each week for this task.  As for most young children, Robert hated being last in the queue for anything, and he, therefore, disliked carrying out the duties of milk monitor simply because he had to wait until everyone else had received their bottle before starting on his own.  However, he was always careful to put a bottle aside in the corner of the crate to ensure that he got one!

On most farms, there was no shortage of milk, and Robert had consumed gallons of it from a very early age, sometimes straight from the udder.  School milk was different, and the reason Robert liked it so much was not just because it was milk - he could have any amount of that at home, and it was probably much fresher than the school version.  What Robert liked about the school milk was the novelty of it being served in a sealed bottle with a shiny top and that the milk, particularly in winter, was usually icy, sometimes with a thick layer of frozen milk at the top.  At home, Father brought the milk from the farm in a sizeable half-gallon container that was used for no other purpose.

During the hottest part of the summer, this container spent its days in a deep hole outside the back door.  Digging this early refrigerator was one of the first things Robert’s father did when arriving at a new house.  To Robert, drinking directly from the small milk bottle was a novelty; at home, the boys used whatever came to hand as a drinking vessel: cups, mugs, jugs, jam-jars or empty tin cans, but there was no such thing as a milk bottle in their house. The only time that the family used matching drinking vessels was when Mother made the tea, and on these